


Espresso Your Affection

by DrowningByDegrees



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Barista Bucky Barnes, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, an absurd amount of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees
Summary: There's a drink served at a cafe on campus, billed as "Espresso Your Affection". You'd be hard pressed to find a student who doesn't recognize the little red cup it comes in, complete with the name of whatever crush you're trying to woo. Personally, Bucky thinks the whole thing is just about ridiculous.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkplaylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkplaylove/gifts).



> This is all based around the meme found [here](http://talkplaylove.tumblr.com/post/71733341738/chocosong-how-to-get-a-boyfriend-order-a-cup)
> 
> A gift for [here](http://talkplaylove.tumblr.com/post/71733341738/chocosong-how-to-get-a-boyfriend-order-a-cup)
> 
> Thanks to [jinlinli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlinli/pseuds/jinlinli) and [obsessivereader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader) for the read through!

Bucky had been enjoying the ghost town the cafe always was the last day of finals week. Where the tables had been packed for the last few weeks, today, everyone was either taking their tests or celebrating with something much harder than coffee. He was cleaning out one of the espresso machines - one less thing to do after close - when he heard the telltale jangle of someone walking in the door. 

 

Pasting on a smile in an effort to look excited about company, Bucky looked up. He was all set to get them their coffee and hurry them along, only then Bucky really looked. The young man who’d walked in looked to be about his age, with a striking face that seemed so severe to be set on such a slender frame. He wasn’t conventionally gorgeous in the way people were taught to define beauty, but there was something about him that made Bucky’s smile a great deal more genuine. Maybe it was the smudge of orange acrylic paint on his nose. An artist. Of course he was an artist. 

 

Alright, maybe a last minute customer wasn’t so bad, if this was the one. Bucky made his way to the register and leaned on the counter. “Hey there. What’ll it be?”

 

“Yeah, hi. Umm…” The guy sure stammered a lot for a cup of coffee. Bucky just assumed he was out of his depth, probably one of those folks who got so wrapped up in a project they barely noticed what they were drinking, let alone what it was called. Pretty or not, the guy had walked in five minutes before close, and Bucky was just about to offer some help and nudge him along when he finally decided. “A mocha.”

 

“A mocha. You got it.” Bucky rang up the drink and pulled a paper cup from the sleeve of them. Five minutes until close, it definitely wasn’t going to be for here, so he didn’t bother to ask. “Anything else?”

 

“Yeah. Um. An Espresso Your Affection. Please don’t laugh.” It all came out in a whoosh, so quickly and so smooshed together that Bucky might not have known what he was saying if he hadn’t known that drink annoyingly well. Everyone on campus knew that damned drink with its little red paper cup all plastered with hearts. People came in all the time to take the drinks to their latest crushes in hopes of securing a date without just bucking up and  _ asking _ . It made the cafe an obscene amount of money, Bucky was willing to bet, but the amusement factor of this particular gimmick had worn off all of about two days after he’d started. 

 

“I’m not laughing,” he promised as he punched the second drink into the register. Bucky restrained the urge to groan. Just barely. Just because the whole thing was ridiculous didn’t mean he was going to be mean about it. Bucky waited for the customer to pay and then turned to the one machine he still had up and running to get to work. 

 

For a few minutes, the coffee shop was mostly quiet aside from the whir of the coffee grinder and the same smooth jazz song Bucky had heard three times this shift. From behind the machine, he watched the the young man fidget, repeatedly pushing the same errant lock of blond hair out of his face. As much out of pity for his obviously nervous customer as to break the quiet, Bucky piped up. “So… who’s the lucky recipient?”

 

That got his customer’s attention, but for all the wrong reasons it seemed. The man’s full lips turned down in a frown, and he lifted his chin like he was gearing up to head into a fight rather than answer a harmless question. “He’s in one of my classes.”

 

Oh. That was refreshing, and might have encouraged Bucky if not for what exactly the guy was ordering. It explained the reaction, and while it wasn’t how things usually went, he certainly wasn’t judging. He gave the customer a friendly, lopsided smile, hoping to diffuse things a little as he aerated the milk for the mocha. “Does ‘he’s in one of my classes’ have a name? I’ll write it on the cup for you.”

 

Bucky’s particular brand of cheeky banter seemed to have exactly the desired effect. He watched as the guy’s narrow shoulders sagged, the tension slipping from them. The downward pull of his mouth had eased up as well. “His name’s Matt.”

 

“Oh good. One I don’t have to ask how to spell.” Bucky poured chocolate into the first cup and set it under the machine, pulling espresso as the milk finished steaming. “How about you?”

 

“Me?” There went those eyebrows again, up in surprise. He really did have such an expressive face. “What? Are you gonna write my name on a cup, too?”

 

Bucky laughed, finishing off the drink and fitting a lid on top before sliding it across the bar. “Nah. Just seems weird asking strangers about their love life.”

 

“Isn’t that pretty much every time someone gets one of these?” the young man asked, gesturing vaguely at the red cup on the counter. 

 

“Well, yeah.” Bucky shrugged as he steamed another cup of milk. “Doesn’t make it less weird.”

 

Bucky looked up when he didn’t get an answer, and found the young man already sipping on his mocha. His eyes were half closed in obvious enjoyment, long lashes fanned across his pale skin. That was worth making coffee… now two minutes before closing, to see that face. Even without the paint smudge, he looked like a piece of art himself, Bucky decided. The sum of his parts was pleasantly unconventional, but each individual piece was gorgeous. Really, it was a shame about the circumstances. He didn’t realize he was staring until there was the embarrassingly audible sound of the young man clearing his throat. “It’s Steve.”

 

“Steve.” Bucky glanced over the machine as he tamped grounds into the filter. It wasn’t what he’d expected for some reason, but it fit all the same. 

 

“You know, not that a name is really enough to make people more than strangers, but introductions usually go both ways.” Steve was staring at him from behind his to go cup. It wasn’t a question people usually bothered to ask, and it caught Bucky off guard, just a bit. Maybe that was less about the question and more about Steve’s general state of intensity. For someone on a coffee run, the guy seemed awfully purposeful. 

 

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s Bucky.” He screwed the filter in place and set the cup underneath to catch the shot as it poured. It was a minute past close now, and Bucky was just the slightest bit sorry the second drink was almost done. He couldn’t resist an impish grin as he added, “I moved here a year ago, I make a really damned good cup of coffee, and I’ve been listening to the same music on repeat every single shift for the entire time I’ve worked here.”

 

Steve’s mouth twitched as he glanced up at the ceiling, where the music was coming from. “You like jazz?”

 

“ _ No _ .” Bucky laughed outright, pulling the red paper cup from the machine to pour the milk on top. “The owner just won’t pony up for another CD.”

 

Steve snorted in obvious amusement as Bucky pressed the lid onto the second cup. Bucky picked it up long enough to pull a marker from his apron, neatly lettering this Matt person’s name in one of the hearts before he handed it over. “Here you are. Best of luck in your affection espressoing.”

 

The pun was met with a rather dramatic groan from Steve. “Please tell me you don’t say that every time.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Bucky asked, stepping out from behind the counter to follow Steve to the door. 

 

“It’s that bad.”

 

\---

 

“You know the coffee to ask someone out deal is a one time thing, right?” This marked two straight weeks that Steve had come in. It was always about the start of Bucky’s shift, and always for two coffees. “It’s not like we have a relationship upkeep latte.”

 

Steve groaned, lips twitching despite what Bucky suspected was a valiant effort not to laugh. It was a decidedly good look for him. His features softened noticeably, eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement, and Bucky wondered if they’d always been so warm. He might have gotten caught staring if Steve hadn’t piped up with a reply. “Yeah. Turns out you weren’t lying about making a good cup of coffee.”

 

“Must be more than good to have you here every day.” Bucky pressed as he rang up the beverages. 

 

“Don’t go pressing your luck. This place is on my way to class.” There was a smile though, small, but genuine that Bucky couldn’t help but answer in kind. 

 

“Well, whatever keeps you coming back.” Bucky didn’t realize how that must have sounded until he noticed the flush that crept across Steve’s cheeks. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant…”

 

Only, he didn’t know how to finish that, because the longer he thought about it, the less sure he was he could answer honestly. 

 

\---

 

It was about a month and a half later when Steve showed up in the early evening, messenger bag looking almost too heavy for his slender shoulders, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. 

 

“I know the coffee is good, but I don’t know if it’s two trips in one day good,” Bucky teased when Steve reached the front counter. 

 

“Oh, it’s for here,” Steve murmured as Bucky reached for the usual paper cup. Well, that was different, and a decidedly pleasant surprise. “I have an art project.”

 

“Art project. Yes. That explains everything.” Bucky quirked a small smile at Steve as he pulled a ceramic mug from its mat on top of the coffee machine. “Does it involve seeing how much coffee you can drink in a day?”

 

“No. I have to draw a series that are all centered on a theme. This is a good place to watch people.” Steve gestured to the tables in the lobby, half full of people studying, or catching up with old friends, or mooning over their dates. He looked… something, more serious maybe. There was a slight furrow to Steve’s brow that Bucky wasn’t sure whether to read as focused or upset. It probably wasn’t his business anyway. 

 

“Have fun. Now you too can listen to the same dozen songs on loop.” Bucky filled the coffee cup and handed it over to Steve. 

 

“Is it really only a dozen songs?” Steve asked as he picked up his mug. 

 

“I guess you’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

 

Bucky was glad that the night was a little busy, if only because it kept him from staring. Steve had camped out on a table meant for four near the open section of the bar where Bucky handed off drinks. There were papers and pencils strewn across the surface of the table, and Steve’s teeth worked over his bottom lip as he scribbled something Bucky couldn’t see. So, that was what focus looked like, which meant maybe Steve had been upset before after all. 

 

Half an hour before close, the lobby had all but emptied, and Steve was still hard at work. Bucky grabbed a towel to wipe down the empty tables, both because it needed to be done and because he couldn’t help being curious what Steve was working on. Steve didn’t seem keen on sharing though, judging by the way he dragged a blank page over whatever he was working on as soon as Bucky got close. 

 

“How’s it going?” Bucky prodded as he wiped down the table next to Steve.

 

“It’s fifteen songs,” Steve announced. “And they’re all terrible.”

 

\---

 

Bucky wasn’t sure when he’d started marking time in terms of Steve’s visits, but he blamed it on the fact that his artist friend had camped out at that table in the lobby for three solid weeks. One could only be exposed to the same stimuli for so long before there was a sense of normalcy to it. Bucky Barnes spent his afternoons during the week making coffee. Steve Rogers drew in the lobby, working on a project he was intently focused on, but never seemed inclined to let Bucky see. Bucky hardly remembered it being any other way. 

 

Here they were again. Steve wasn’t smiling, which seemed like an awful departure from the norm, because Steve was lovely and deserved things to smile about. Bucky almost asked, but he wasn’t sure the question would be appreciated. Perhaps later, if Steve still looked upset. For now, Bucky just approached it as business as usual, reaching for two paper cups. 

 

“Just one,” Steve cut in tersely. He wasn’t quite looking at Bucky, and his lips had slanted off into a distressed looking frown. 

 

Honestly, how was he expected to just ignore that? Bucky grabbed a single cup. “What? Finally tell Matt to get his own damned coffee?”

 

Steve’s expression scrunched briefly in obvious discomfort. He looked around, probably confirming there was no one in line behind him, and for once there wasn’t. “Something like that.”

 

He didn’t expect Steve to talk to confide in him really, but reaching out to give his… sort of friend the hug it looked like he probably needed was out of the question. Offering to listen was the next best thing. “Any particular reason?”

 

“I stopped by after I finished up here last night.” Steve fidgeted, and Bucky thought he might stop there, but eventually he continued. “He wasn’t alone. Or dressed.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s rough,” Bucky murmured as he filled up Steve’s coffee cup. He could just see out of the corner of his eye, the way Steve’s lips trembled ever so slightly before he clenched his jaw. 

 

“It’s fine,” Steve mumbled as he shoved a couple of dollar bills in Bucky’s direction, turning on his heel to leave. 

 

“Wait,” Bucky called out impulsively. Maybe he couldn’t ease how badly this had to hurt, but it didn’t mean he had no options. He grabbed a second cup, pouring coffee most of the way up. “I’ve got something for you.”

 

“Bucky. He  _ cheated _ on me. I’m not trying to win him back,” Steve protested. He waited though, watching Bucky work. 

 

“Oh no. Of course not,” Bucky agreed, pulling the cup out from under the spigot. He pulled the brewer out as well, dumping the grounds from the filter into the cup. “This isn’t to win him back. It’s to dump on him. He should just be glad I rinsed out the frothing pitcher after the last latte I made.”

 

“That’s kind of a rotten thing to do,” Steve flatly pointed out as Bucky offered him the cup. 

 

“Yeah. So’s cheating.”

 

Steve’s long, nimble fingers brushed against Bucky’s as he took the cup. “You know what? It is.”

 

\---

 

Steve didn’t come back that night, and the tail end of Bucky’s shift was a little bleaker for it. He hadn’t realized how much of a fixture Steve was becoming, but every time patrons would sit at that table with their laptops or their hand holding, and not a pencil in sight it just seemed wrong.

 

Bucky was half afraid this was part of some bigger trend, but Steve returned the next day before class, looking far less distressed. It eased something in Bucky’s chest to know Steve wasn’t moping at home. He was so busy being pleased about that, he almost didn’t catch the packet Steve held out to him.

 

“What’s this?” Bucky asked, right about the time Steve pushed the little, square envelope into his hand. He opened it up, grinning at the contents. “You made me a mix tape?”

 

“I saved us both from the cafe owner’s allergy to decent music,” Steve insisted, cheeks going a little pink. “I was going crazy listening to the same songs over and over.”

 

“You made me a mix tape,” Bucky insisted, grinning at the way Steve only blushed more brightly. 

 

Steve crossed his arms. “You keep going on about that and I’m going to take it back. Then, you’ll be stuck in jazz music purgatory forever.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender. “But, if this is more jazz, you’re never hearing the end of it.”

 

\---

It wasn’t jazz, and Bucky had just finished playing through the disk when Steve came back. Bucky made no effort to hide his pleasure when he noticed the bag Steve was carrying. Definitely sticking around, then. Of course, he couldn’t very well just say that. “Aren’t you ever going to be done with your project? I’m starting to think you’re a permanent fixture.”

 

Quick as Steve usually was to answer, he was quiet now, mouth screwed up in what Bucky might have thought was embarrassment if he hadn’t known better. At least, Bucky hoped that wasn’t what it was because he thoroughly enjoyed Steve’s company, and didn’t want to run him off. “I finished that days ago. I just like to be here.”

 

Was that so? Bucky lifted a brow, considering how to respond to that. In the process, it seemed like Steve also realized exactly what he’d said. 

 

“You know. To draw. The ambiance is nice!” Steve’s voice lifted in pitch, the cadence speeding up in a way Bucky hadn’t heard since the first day they’d met. Only, this time he couldn’t think of anything for Steve to be nervous about. 

 

Bucky, on the other hand, had plenty of reason to be nervous. “Here, I thought maybe you were here for the company.”

 

That pulled a smile from Steve, a faint little uptick at the corners of his mouth. “I guess the company is alright, too.”

 

“Oh good. Glad I have your approval. I’d hate for them to have to find a replacement barista to keep you around,” Bucky teased. Banter was easier than just spitting out what he wanted to say. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve gave Bucky a put upon look. “Can I have my coffee?”

 

Maybe he didn’t have to say it after all. Thinking quickly, Bucky replied, “You know? I gotta make another pot. I’ll bring it out to you, alright?”

 

“If you say so…” Steve’s brows furrowed in obvious suspicion, but he did as Bucky suggested, heading out to his usual table. 

 

Bucky took advantage of the fact that Steve wasn’t watching him and got to work. His heart was in his throat as he ground beans for the drink he was making, hoping he didn’t have this all wrong. He glanced over the top of the espresso machine as he got to work, but Steve was focused, laying out pages and pencils on the table he’d claimed. 

 

It almost felt like the process of making the drink went too fast, leaving Bucky in an awful limbo between wanting to go out there and not really certain he had the nerve to do so. He poured shots and steamed milk the way he’d done countless numbers of times for countless lovestruck college students. For all he’d rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of it all, his stomach flopped nervously as he set the lid on the cup and scrawled a name in one of of the little hearts scattered across the red paper cup. 

 

If Steve noticed the delay, he didn’t show it. As per usual, he had gotten right to work, tongue poking slightly between his lips as charcoal dragged over paper. Bucky lingered at the bar, cup cradled in his hands, marveling at how deftly Steve’s fingers moved. He’d never actually gotten to see what Steve was doing, but he marveled at the process from afar. 

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky came closer, hoping to get a glimpse of what Steve was working on. It turned out to be a rather romanticized depiction of the view out the window, the glass faded, as if the picture were lost somewhere in time. The old, ornate architecture of the building across the street was there, but poles for power lines were traded for lovely wrought iron street lamps. It was the sort of thing you could get lost in, Bucky thought, and he couldn’t think for the life of him, why Steve would be so guarded about things like this. 

 

That was about the time he caught the picture that angled out beneath the piece Steve was currently working on. The apron. The ponytail. It was definitely him. Only Bucky was reasonably certain he didn’t look like that. The backdrop was intentionally blurred, as if the world simply faded away around him, and there was a smile etched on his lips that looked as if it lived there. Bucky didn’t know what it meant, but it left him feeling impossibly warm. 

 

Warm. Of course, he still had the coffee. Chewing his lip, Bucky watched a second longer, but Steve was too focused to notice him. He didn’t acknowledge Bucky’s shadow across the page he was drawing on, and he only murmured a soft thank you at first when the cup was set down. There was something terribly endearing about the way he reached where the handle to a ceramic mug ought to have been, humming in confusion as he finally looked up. 

 

“I… don’t think I ordered that.” His eyes shot up to meet Bucky’s wide as saucers. 

 

Bucky meant to say something smooth, but his throat felt full of cotton. It was a wonder anything came out at all. “You didn’t.”

 

“I’ve seen the way you roll your eyes about these things when no one’s looking. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like your style,” Steve pressed. There was something about knowing Steve had been watching him too that left him a little unwound, fighting the urge to cover the blush he could feel crawling across his cheeks. 

 

“It’s not,” he admitted, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I have it on good authority that someone at this table likes that sort of thing.”

 

“Is that so?” Bucky liked Steve’s face best like this, soft around the edges and fighting off a decidedly fond look. Steve ducked behind the rim of his coffee mug, eyes fluttering shut as he took a sip. “Yeah… I guess they do.”


End file.
